


PA Stories

by pipisafoat



Series: Abby Lyman [18]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Canon Disabled Character, Chinese Food, Disability, Flashbacks, Gen, Invisible Illnesses, PTSD flashbacks, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Service Animals, Service Dogs, collie - Freeform, invisible disabilities, nonverbal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-02-28 20:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13278927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipisafoat/pseuds/pipisafoat
Summary: A collection of times Josh & Abby faced public access challenges or any of the other hardships commonly seen by a service dog team. These stories take place throughout the entire Josh&Abby timeline but will contain no spoilers for unposted fic and extremely limited spoilers for other posted fic in this series.Some chapters contain likely triggering content; they will be clearly labeled in notes at the top of those chapters. Chapters without notes carry no content warnings.





	1. Sweet & Sour Chicken, Hold the Dog

Josh has only had his service dog for a week the first time he gets what the Dogs of Destiny trainers call a “public access challenge.” He stops at his favorite Chinese restaurant for takeout on his way home; all the talks about the trade agreement with China today gave him a craving for sweet and sour chicken. He gets out of his car, shuts his door, and opens the rear door on the driver’s side. As soon as it opens, a relaxing Abby jumps up to a seated position. She doesn’t try to get out, but Josh still commands, “Hold it,” as he reaches for her. His left hand rubs the top of her head as his right slides along each strap of her vest, double checking its secure attachment. He reaches into the footwell and grabs her leash, clipping it onto her collar. “Let’s go,” he commands, and she jumps easily out of his car.

Abby walks at her handler’s side, slack in the leash hanging almost to her belly as his arms sway with his gait. She matches his every move, even the step back as he opens the large glass door. They stride as one to the counter, and Josh rings the bell sitting there.

“Ah, Mr Lyman, good to see you again,” the shorter man says as he walks out of the kitchen and to the register. “Your order is ready. One sweet and sour chicken, one small fried rice, one order of egg rolls. $18.75, as always.”

Josh smiles easily at the man whose name he’s never asked and hands over his card to pay. “Thank you. You’ll have to warn me if you ever raise your prices, you know.”

“Maybe a loyal customer like you gets one last meal at the lower price,” the man says with a wink as he returns Josh’s card. “If we forgot to say.” He takes the bag on the counter, opens it slightly, and drops in two fortune cookies with another wink. “Share one with your special lady!”

“Will do,” Josh laughs. In truth, he gives them both to Donna and has since he found this restaurant. He’s never liked the taste of the cookies themselves, but Donna reading the fortunes and trying to apply them to his life always makes him laugh. “Have a nice day.” He takes hold of the bag and turns toward the door.

“You too— No! Mr Lyman! You can’t bring a dog in here!” The man sounds almost betrayed.

Josh looks down at Abby to confirm that she’s wearing her vest and that her patches are clearly visible to the employee. “She’s a service dog,” he explains evenly, pointing to the patch facing the counter. “She is specially trained for my disabilities and for public access.”

The man shakes his head firmly. “No dogs here. We say it on the door.”

Josh takes a deep breath and thinks of all the times in the future he’s going to want to order dinner from here. “The ADA is the law with the service dog provisions,” he tells the other man calmly. “Abby goes with me everywhere because I rely on her the way other people rely on wheelchairs and walkers.”

“You don’t bring her here again,” the man insists.

He doesn’t know if it’s a cultural thing or a food thing, but he doesn’t have time to wonder. Abby nudges his thigh with her nose, and he cringes internally. The last thing he wants is to have a panic attack in front of someone who’s trying to discriminate against them. “Free,” he whispers to Abby to stop her alert from escalating. He gets his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out one of the cards Dogs of Destiny gave him when he left with Abby. “This card explains the laws for you so next time a service dog comes in, you’ll know what to do.” Josh and Abby walk in concert back up to the counter, hand the employee a card, and walk out the door. He’ll slide into the back seat with Abby to ride out his panic attack, and then he’ll moan about having to reheat his dinner once they’re home. He makes a mental note to ask Donna what Chinese restaurant she goes to, because he can’t, he just _can’t_ deal with coming back here for another confrontation and episode.


	2. Please Don't Pet My Medical Equipment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT NOTE: Graphic description of PTSD flashback (and it's Josh, so that's bullets and blood). Graphic description of associated panic attack, dissociation, becoming nonverbal, and dealing with strangers while in this state.

The most annoying thing that happens to Josh and Abby isn’t the public access challenges. It’s not the small children who squeal in excitement or the ones who reach out to pet Abby. It’s the adults who pet her, call her, make noises at her, or even squeak toys to get her attention.

They’re in the pet store looking for new treats and more food when it first happens. Josh has his head tilted up as he retrieves a bag of treats from the top shelf; Abby’s out of his line of sight for ten seconds at most, but that’s enough. When he turns toward her to toss the treats in his cart, a woman he’s never met before is kneeling beside Abby, petting her, even running a hand up under her vest.

“Please don’t pet her,” Josh says quietly, trying not to draw attention.

“She’s friendly,” the woman counters, continuing to pet.

He sighs. “Yes, but she’s working right now.” He doesn’t mention the basic common sense that says it’s a bad idea to pet strange dogs without permission.

“It doesn’t look like she is.”

The number of times he’s come up with a giant legislative answer while eating bagels with Donna is proof enough that looks can be deceiving on that front. “However, she is. Please stop petting my medical equipment.”

The woman glares at him. “Don’t tell me what to do. You brought a dog into a pet store; people have the right to pet her.”

“She’s wearing a vest that clearly labels her a service dog,” Josh counters, barely refraining from pointing out that the woman should have noticed the vest, given that her entire hand up to the wrist is underneath it. That’s the only reason he isn’t just leading Abby way; the woman could find a way to claim he’d hurt her, or worse, that Abby had hurt her.

“The vest doesn’t say not to pet her,” the woman argues, so yeah, she’s noticed the vest and taken in its details. “If you want people not to pet her, put a patch that says so on the vest.”

Because that’s likely to work. Josh takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, proud of himself that Abby hasn’t alerted him yet. Her attention has remained on him this entire time, and he’s even more proud of her than he is of himself. All he can do now is try to emulate her calm attitude. “That’s a good idea, ma’am. I’ll look into getting a patch like that. Still, she is working right now, and I am trying to finish my shopping and get home. I am asking you politely to leave her alone. Don’t pet her, don’t talk to her, don’t call her name, don’t try to distract her in any way. Please,” he adds as a hasty afterthought. The trainers at Dogs of Destiny had been very insistent that Josh and Abby make every effort to act perfectly in public and be polite in these kinds of situations. Because there are so few service dog teams compared to the general populace, Josh and Abby may be the only team someone sees in their lifetime, and that makes them something of an ambassador. Josh thinks that’s an incredible amount of pressure to put on a person already struggling to control his disabilities and new to having a dog at all, much less one who helps out.

“Whatever. If you think you’re special because your dog is wearing something, I don’t have time to deal with you. You should know my dog wears things, too, though. He’s at home right now wearing a sweater.” The woman huffs loudly as she turns away, walking toward two other ladies. He absolutely does not have space in his brain to worry about them, though.

As Josh turns back to finding another treat for Abby, she gives him an alert, but it’s not the one he was expecting. Being in a store is still a huge trigger for anxiety, and so are conversations with strangers, but she’s pawing at his leg instead of nudging him with her nose. Is he angry? He thinks for a second, and oh yeah, he’s definitely angry. That woman interfered with his service dog’s ability to so her job, didn’t listen to Josh when he explained and asked her not to, and then completely diminished Abby to a yappy butt wearing a sweater. He’s angry, and now that he’s noticed that, he’s not willing or able to deal with it in any sort of constructive way.

But Abby paws at him again, reminding him that if he does anything stupid, she’ll suffer for it, too. He leans against the piles of dog beds on the endcap and runs through some progressive muscle relaxation until his body has calmed down enough for deep breathing to calm his mind. When he feels ready to continue, he steers them into the toy aisle and, with a quick whispered, “Freedom,” allows Abby to choose a toy as a reward for all her hard work. He calls her back to duty as soon as he takes the crinkly, squeaky, bright blue duck from her and turns them back to their original goal, another bag of food.

However, as they push the cart up to the section with Abby’s preferred brand, he hears the same woman from earlier talking to her friends. They’re across the center aisle, the two he hasn’t met with their backs to him and the one that made him so angry facing him, smirking at him. He jerks his eyes away; he won’t give her the satisfaction.

“He said we can’t even talk to her,” the original woman says to her friends.

“Why not? It’s not like he’d die if we talked to a dog,” a second woman replies with disdain.

The third lady sounds tentative when she speaks. “He might. We don’t know why he has a service dog.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Nita,” the second woman scoffs. “Nobody who could die would rely on a dog to keep them alive.”

“I’m with Marie,” the original offender says.

Josh can’t stand to hear another word of this. He grabs the largest bag of Abby’s food and drops it into his cart from a height, causing it to bounce and echo throughout the store. He grabs the handle of his cart and pushes it into the main aisle, stopping short at the entrance to the women’s aisle. “Hi,” he says in an abrupt and slightly loud voice. “Nita, Marie, we haven’t met yet, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. This is Abby. She’s my service dog. She had two and a half years of intensive training before she and I were paired. If you distract her, she could miss an alert, and that would really affect my health. Depending on the circumstances, I could die, or I could accidentally kill someone else. I’m not telling you my private medical information, so don’t even ask. If you have polite questions, call the White House and ask for Abby Lyman.”

He pushes his cart forward with every intention of rolling straight through their little clump with little more than a sarcastic “Excuse me,” but he only takes one step before Abby gives a panic attack alert, a nudge of her nose against his thigh. He ignores her for a step; she repeats it. He ignores her a second step, and she ups the level of her alert to a quiet whine and breaks her heel to get between Josh and his cart, forcing him to stop. She whines again, and in his frustration with the three women overriding common sense, he takes both hands from the handle of the cart to physically move her aside and continue on. His hands are shaking, his heart is pounding, and Abby is more insistent than she’s ever been. He thinks to open his mouth and order her out of the way, but then he hears the sirens approaching. His chest tightens as he staggers back a few steps from the force of the bullet. His hands fly to his chest, clutch at a spot that a tiny, rational part of him knows is just a scar by now but that the rest of him, consumed by terror he can’t break, is convinced is gushing blood onto the street. He’s on the street, on the street with Toby standing over him looking thrown and at a loss for words in a way he would never have expected from the Communications Director, on the street with—

Two small objects impact his chest - his gloriously intact chest - with enough force that he stumbles back a few more steps. The world seems to snap back into focus before he realizes he was out of focus. He’s in Petsmart, not outside on concrete just above the flight of stairs leading to help. He’s in DC, not Rosslyn.

“Good girl,” he tells Abby, who’s still standing up on him. He rubs her ears in reward for the untrained but excellent dissociative response before commanding, “Floor.” She drops her front paws to the ground and immediately alerts with a nose nudge and a whine. Josh knows he’s still anxious, but he’s still in public, and a quick glance both confirms the trio of women is watching and ratchets his anxiety up so high he knows he has no chance of avoiding this. Abby nudges and lets out a quiet bark, the escalation of her alert he’d hoped he’d never hear. He can’t look at the women, can’t see what they think and feel about this, because he can’t handle their judgment or his shame right now. There’s only one option as his heart pounds faster than he’s felt in a while, one option he can take for his health, one option Leo and the President and Donna would say to do if they were there. He squats beside Abby just long enough for her to nudge him and bark again, then he sits with little grace, knees bent up in front of him.

“Look at that,” the woman who touched Abby says. “If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was her pet.”

Her words literally can’t bother him now, slipping out of his head between one terrifyingly fast heartbeat and the next. It’s everything he can do to focus on the emergency position he’d learned when he met Abby. He spreads his legs, but he can’t remember what to signal her. It doesn’t seem to matter; she steps up in the space he created and sits down as close to her handler as possible. She rears up on her hind legs, draping her front paws on Josh’s shoulders. Josh automatically grabs her by the shoulders but soon after releases her, strokes her fur in apology. The softness feels good, grounding in its own way, secondary to the weight and pressure the position is giving him. His hands freeze as an unfamiliar voice filters into his ears through the pounding of his heart.

“Sir, are you okay? Do we need to call an ambulance or a friend for you?”

Abby whines, and Josh isn’t sure if she’s trying to ground him, answer the newcomer, or alert to increased anxiety over having to reply to this new person. He opens his mouth to answer, but all he can produce is a whiffling breath or a high-pitched whine. Dammit, another thing to owe to Donna - he unzips Abby’s bags and rifles around, uncaring of the other things that fall out and onto the floor around them. He finds two index cards, folded in half, and hands them both blindly to the person he assumes is an employee. It’s a leap of faith, but he has no choice. They’ll need to look at the cards and—

And hand him back one. He tucks it back into the bag but doesn’t bother to zip it back up. He hopes, in the small part of his mind not focused on breathing, that this likely employee just handed him back the one labeled “For Emergency Medical Personnel Only” and is reading the other card.

_My name is Josh Lyman. I do not require emergency medical attention. I have an anxiety disorder and sometimes cannot speak. Please allow my service dog Abby to do her work uninhibited. If possible, please clear a space in which I can lie down. If this episode lasts longer than five minutes, please call Donna Moss at 202-555-3848._

He watches a dark hand with really immaculate nails for someone who works in a pet store tuck the folded card back into Abby’s bag. “The floor is clear to your right, sir. I’ll get you a bottle of water, and my coworkers are clearing the aisle now and blocking access until you’ve recovered.”

Josh wraps his arms around Abby in a brief hug before telling her in a rush of air only a dog could hear, “Off.” As soon as her front paws are on the ground instead of on him, he leans on his right elbow and sort of collapses untidily onto the floor, not even wincing at the pain that shoots through his back as his spine slams into tile-covered concrete. He finds himself unable to give a verbal command and unable to remember the hand signal _again_ (and he needs to talk to someone about that, though he’s not sure if it’s his therapist or Abby’s trainer), but bless her furry self, Abigail Lyman gets her body stretched out on top of his before his anxiety can spike again.

He’s gotten better about ignoring time and his surroundings like this, trusting in Abby’s proximity alerts to keep him safe. He focuses on his symptoms and getting under control before finally stroking his dog’s head. “Off,” he commands softly, confident once again in his ability to keep his breathing and heart rate close to normal without her weight tying him to his body. He gets to his feet slowly, giving his body time to adjust, because there’s a good chance he’s about to be in the newspaper for being rude and then having an episode, but he’d really like not to add “and then he fainted” to the hypothetical article.

He leans over and grabs the fresh water bottle sitting beside him now, making a mental note to find out that employee’s name and thank them. He drinks his fill and then picks up Abby’s travel bowl from the collection of things surrounding their feet. As she drinks, Josh gathers everything else and dumps it haphazardly back into saddlebags. Donna won’t be impressed, but he thinks he can sort it out properly before she’s in Abby’s bags again. He’s just not going to do it where there might be cameras.

Apparently he somehow hasn’t left enough room in either bag for Abby’s water bowl, so Josh carries it awkwardly through checking out and drops it on his passenger seat after loading Abby safely in the back seat.


	3. Training Never Ends (Completely Perfectly)

It’s a good day for Josh. Not just that he’s accomplished good things - because he has, his child healthcare bill is set to pass overwhelmingly next week - but it’s just one of those days when he feels a little steadier, a little stronger, a little more able to handle the world. Abby hasn’t alerted at all today, and he’s only asked her to task four times. (Once was a cover position to make sure someone who triggered his PTSD would keep their distance, and the other three were pressure and grounding therapy to keep his anxiety levels down.) His typical days take three or four alerts and, well, he’s never counted her tasks.

So he’s feeling good, he’s _doing_ good, and then Leo drops by to congratulate him on the healthcare bill and send him home early. Donna’s working for another hour or two, so he decides to pick up dinner - maybe pick up ingredients and actually cook, which he hasn’t done in months, certainly not in the time they’ve been together. Then again, maybe he’ll pick up a frozen pizza and cook that. Regardless, he’s going to drop by a store on his way home. He checks his email one last time and can’t help but chuckle to himself as he reads his one new message:

_Mr. Lyman,_

_Hello from Destiny! We at Dogs of Destiny are taking this opportunity to reach out to you and your service dog, Abigail Ann Bartlet Lyman. We hope your team is flourishing! Please remember that you can reach out to us at any time with any questions or concerns._

_Don’t forget that you need to periodically refresh your dog’s skills by requesting tasks even when they are not needed and rewarding your dog for successful completion, whether that reward is treats, praise, or time with a favorite time. We also suggest that you reward good behavior when out in public occasionally to reinforce public access skills._

_Enjoy your dog team of destiny!_

_Jason Kalonic  
Founder and Trainer  
Dogs of Destiny_

“Abby, get your leash,” he commands her, and she trots to his side with her adjustable hands-free leash in her mouth. “It looks like our grocery store trip has morphed into dinner and training.”

Even though he doesn’t usually have a treat pouch clipped to his belt, Abby works just the way she usually does. She seems surprised to get a treat for heeling through a large family of excited children, all of whom she ignores. When they reach the dairy section, Josh is pleasantly surprised to find the area empty of both shoppers and displays in the middle of the aisle. His good day just seems to be getting better - it’s a perfect area to do some training. He runs Abby through some heeling exercises, tests her cover and block positions, and treats her for each successful response. 

But then he commands her, “Back,” and the happy collie obediently steps back three paces, tail wagging. As Josh tells her, “Good,” the tail speeds up; as he reaches forward to hand her a treat, a loud crash and shatter rings through the air. Abby takes the treat as she dances to the side.

Josh checks the area around his dog first to make sure there are no shards of whatever just broke, but she’s safe and doesn’t appear to be hurt. He looks at the mess - some sort of decorative jar, based on what’s on the tail-level shelf, but he can’t figure out if it had an owl or a fox on it. It occurs to him belatedly that he probably ought to have checked behind her before asking for that command. He stares blankly at the broken glass, resisting the urge to call Donna. He can figure this out alone.

“Good evening, sir,” an employee says as she passes by. “Is there anything I can help you find?”

“Uh,” he replies, looking up with what he can only assume is a confused and sheepish expression. “I, uh.” The woman comes over toward him, and he throws a hand up. “Stop! There’s glass. We, uh, well, there’s glass.”

She glances down, then smiles at him. “I’ll call for someone to clean it up. Don’t worry about it.”

Josh nods, but honestly compels him to add, “Abby knocked it off with her tail. I can … pay for it?”

“They’re $5. Would you mind carrying one to the register with you?”

He lets out a sigh of relief at the easy solution. “No problem.”

The employee smiles at him again. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate you taking responsibility. I hope you and Abby have a wonderful day!”


	4. Certify This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abby’s back! Thank you for being patient during the long wait.

“Excuse me, sir, but is that a service dog?”

Josh glances down at Abby just to be sure her patches that proclaim her to be a service dog are still firmly attached. “Yes, she is.”

The employee nods. “May I see her identification and certification?”

Josh actually takes a small step back in his surprise, glad that he’s having a good day. “Actually, there are no legally required IDs or certifications. The way you know she’s a service dog is by her conduct and my verbal assurance - and I assure you that she is a service dog, specifically trained to help me with my disability.”

“I can’t allow in any dog without a service ID or certificate,” the other man returns unmoved.

“I understand that you want to protect the business from pet dogs,” Josh replies, “but it is illegal to deny a service dog and their handler access in almost all cases.”

The employee looks smug. “Such as not having the proper identification.”

Josh takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, praying for patience. Abby isn’t alerting, though, so he’s doing well. “Let me back up to the beginning, okay? There are two things you can ask a person about the dog with them to determine if they can come in or stay in the store: Is that a service dog? and What tasks does the dog perform? If they say something like ‘comfort’ or ‘he makes me feel better’ to the second question, that’s either a pet or an emotional support animal, and you don’t have to let them in. Now, for reasons you can throw out a dog even if they answered the questions correctly, you actually have a lot of leeway. If the dog is disruptive - barking, growling, lunging at people, that sort of thing - or uses the bathroom on the floor, you can tell them to leave, but you have to allow the person back in without the dog. Some service dogs do bark to alert their handlers to a situation, I mean they are trained to bark, but it’s only one or two barks and then they are silent again. So those are your legal rights as a store.”

The employee stares at Josh with a kind of blank look that makes the handler sigh and wonder if any of the information got through. “Service dogs have ID cards,” he argues again.

“ID cards are not required,” Josh repeats slowly. “Some dogs have them anyway, and that’s fine, but they are not required. If you’d like, I have some cards with this information and a phone number to call the ADA hotline - that’s the Americans with Disabilities Act - so you can confirm my info while I shop.” He reaches into Abby’s pocket and grabs a card, hands it to the employee, and walks past him with Abby in a perfect heel as though the man had agreed to access. He figures he doesn’t have all day to wait for someone to decide to follow the law.


	5. Emergencies and Artifacts

Three years in, Abby is allowed to be offleash during meetings in any White House room, not just Josh’s office. He keeps her leashed for most Oval Office meetings and around Bransom, whose fear of dogs is only rivaled by his idiocy. Thankfully, Bransom isn’t involved in the current meeting, and Abby is lying calmly at Josh’s side as he berates a group of Democrats for being just moronic about the budget proposals. 

“Sanders, I don’t care how valuable your program would be - though believe me, I’m all for it - the Republicans will not allow it without cutting funding for Medicare and Medicaid. And you know we can’t let that happen.”

“Josh, we can’t give in to them!”

His hand strays toward his hair, but Abby jumps up and bats it away before he can actually make contact. He lets out a frustrated sigh instead, fingers weaving into Abby’s fur. “It’s not giving in; it’s compromising.”

Sanders gesticulated wildly as he continues to argue, but Josh’s attention is drawn to his dog, who pulls away from him to walk to the door, and back, and to the door, and back. He clicks his tongue three times as a rapid burst, and she returns to his side to sit, but she gets up again just moments later. Josh grabs her collar and leans down to murmur quietly in her ear. “Hold it, please. We’re almost done here.” She just pottied an hour ago; there’s no way she needs to pee again that badly so soon. 

Abby settles down in her place, and Josh returns his attention to the Senators. “Look, it’s not going to happen on this budget. Take the next year to lay solid groundwork and we’ll talk about getting it on the next budget. I’m willing to fight for it, but only if there’s a chance of winning.”

Sanders eyes him for a long moment, and Abby’s paw on his foot reminds him to keep his anxiety in check. “Thank you,” the Senator says finally, and Josh just blinks in surprise. 

“Now, Josh, what about—“

“No,” he says, interrupting Johnson. “We all know it’s not happening.”

Johnson glares at him. “I’m not talking about his thing!”

“No, you’re talking about your thing, which is even less likely to happen than his. Less likely than not at all, Stephen; that’s kind of impressive.”

Abby jumps up again and resumes pacing between Josh and the door. He summons her to his side, but she doesn’t hold her stay more than a couple minutes before popping up again. Josh berates everyone one last time in one breath before kicking them out. He reaches down for Abby’s leash as the disgruntled Senators file out of the door, clipping it to her collar and slipping the large loop over his head so it crosses his body. 

“Let’s go,” he tells his dog fondly, leaving his papers in a pile to collect later. It seems like Abby is having an emergency —

Or not, anymore. His dog has popped a squat in the middle of the Roosevelt Room and is currently pooping on a rug that Josh really, really hopes isn’t some historical relic. 

Oops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Service. Dogs. Are. Still. Dogs. 
> 
> Again, SERVICE DOGS ARE STILL DOGS. 
> 
> They still need to pee and poop, and sometimes that’s inconvenient for us handlers. Accidents do happen no matter how well trained the dog is. A month ago, my girl pooped in the *produce department* of all places, because her stomach was upset and the urge hit her too quickly to take care of. 
> 
> That said, the ONLY appropriate way to handle a potty accident FOR SERVICE DOGS AND PETS ALIKE is to immediately clean it up AND inform an employee so they can break out the necessary cleaning agents. If I can pause my life with milk in the cart and get down on the floor from walking with a cane and power through the near-debilitating anxiety about “will she be called a fake for having an accident that was really my fault”, an able person can ask for a handful of paper towels. 
> 
> If you have a dog, take responsibility for your dog. If you see a person with a dog cleaning up an accident, either ignore them or thank them for being responsible. That’s all I’m asking for in life.


End file.
